A Gasp and a Roar of Laughter

Yemenat

Ahmed Saif Hashed

I once attended a wedding celebration in a hall near the New University in Sana’a, most likely in 2004. After offering my congratulations to the groom, I began searching for a place to sit in a hall overflowing with guests, so crowded that it scarcely left a gap for any newcomer.

In the midst of that congestion, I noticed two familiar faces: Mr. Mohammed Ali Saeed (then Director of the Military Works Department) and Mr. Mohammed Abdulghani Al-Qobati (then Director of Hodeidah Customs).

As soon as they saw me, they greeted me warmly and, with some effort, made room for me between them. From that moment began the chapters of an incident that would end in deep embarrassment and confusion.

I placed my qat bundle (Ketal) in its bag beside me. While trying to settle into the narrow space, the bag slipped unintentionally and came to rest beneath my right hip.

Throughout the entire sitting, my qat lay crushed under my weight, suffocating with every slight movement or lean I made, its fate sealed and inevitably bound for the trash.

As for my friend Mohammed Abdulghani’s qat, it stood proudly before me, long, elegant, and carefully arranged, appealing and splendid.

Instead of searching for my own, my unconscious mind took over. I began chewing from the refined qat of my friend, carried away without awareness, from four in the afternoon until nearly six, just before sunset, oblivious, inattentive, and absent-minded.

Mohammed, a kind and shy man, kept casting sidelong glances at my hand as I continued with confidence and enthusiasm. He saw his qat between my fingers in silence, astonishment and questions stirring within him. More astonishing still, he endured two full hours of uninterrupted disbelief without uttering a single word or losing patience.

Before leaving,